by Ophelia Bell
Mason reaches out and takes my hand, extracting my phone and stowing it in his jacket pocket. “She’s fine. They’re both fine. You said so yourself. If I can survive a bullet to the chest, I have no doubt Booth can handle one in the shoulder.”
“You are an outlier, I hope you realize that.” I shoot him a glance that’s half-irritated, half-grateful for the distraction.
He half-shrugs. “Still. Where’d this bundle of nerves come from, and what can I do to help?”
“I just . . . this thing about Mom is a lot to process. It’s a pretty big secret on her part, but we haven’t exactly been the best at sharing ever since my brother died. Having a friend who was actually shot today, and that whole ordeal . . .” I groan, unable to find the words to articulate the weird buzz inside me.
“The adrenaline’s still pumping through you. Your fight or flight instincts are still in high gear. It’ll be a little while before you come down. You seemed fine ten minutes ago when you slammed me against the wall, though. A pretty sexy move.”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, well, you were kissing me then. Your mouth can pretty much make me forget all my worries.”
“I hoped that was the answer,” he says, then slips his arm around me and pulls me close. His mouth finds mine when I tilt up, already more than willing to give in to his offer of a fresh distraction.
27
Callie
When I submit to the delicious warmth that floods me from his kiss, the agitated buzz fades into the background. He cups my cheek, thumb drifting lazily over my jaw, then drifts his hand beneath my jacket. He palms my breast, squeezing, but my sweater is too thick for much sensation.
I press tighter to him, hooking my leg over his as I do my own exploring, more than happy to lean into this escape. His shirt is still damp from all the melted snow, but when I slide my hand beneath, I find warm, hair-dusted skin. His belly tightens beneath my fingertips and he growls low against my mouth, but his hips shift ever so slightly toward my touch, so I take it as an invitation.
The button of his jeans comes free easily, and I slip my hand down the front of his snow-damp shorts. Inside, blazing heat and velvety soft skin meet my still chilled fingertips. It’s almost a reflex to slip my hand farther down, sliding over his length, then gripping him gently.
I pull back from the kiss to gauge his response and am greeted with half-lowered eyelids and parted lips. A small hiss passes between his teeth when I squeeze, giving him a slow, tight stroke.
The confines of his pants make it difficult to maneuver, and I glance at the back of our driver’s head, contemplating going further. The driver is engrossed in navigating the snowy roads and doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the activities in his back seat. We might have time, but we might not.
I settle for another kiss, leaning in and pressing my lips against his. I flick my tongue over and between his lips, not quite letting him kiss me back. I suck his lower lip between mine, working it between my lips and teasing at it with my tongue. He has a truly delicious mouth, which I realize I haven’t spent enough time enjoying in this very basic fashion. I miss his beard, though; the bristles added another layer of sensation to our tryst on the plane, but there’s still not a damn thing wrong with his mouth.
I kiss him deeper and his cock throbs in my hand. I squeeze back, enjoying the low groan he emits into our kiss.
His warm hand finds its way beneath my sweater and he tugs my bra down to free one breast, the constraint of the elastic forcing it up and forward. My nipple brushes tantalizingly against the fabric of my thermal shirt until his fingertips get in between. An involuntary gasp escapes me when he begins teasing at my nipple, and I squeeze harder around his thick erection in response.
I almost don’t notice when the car finally stops at the freshly plowed curb in front of Mom’s building. In a daze, we stumble out and through the doors inside, holding our coats closed to conceal our displaced clothing.
The lobby is irritatingly busy, and we’re forced to share an elevator with a few other residents. Partway up the interminable ride, Mason slips his hand into mine and squeezes. I glance up at him, but despite the oddly misplaced comfort of his grip, his eyes still hold that unmistakable expression of lust that makes my adrenaline spike in an entirely pleasurable way. My only impulse is to climb him like a tree. His cheeks are as flushed as mine feel, and I have the distinct impression that if we were alone in the elevator at this moment, he’d let me do just that.
At the door I fumble with the key in the lock, finding it even more difficult a feat to manage with him pressed up against me from behind, his breath and lips hot against my neck. I’m a little bit frightened at how each time we ramp up like this, he seems to be even more demanding and insistent.
The key slides home, and I let out a sharp sigh of relief when the door opens and I can drag the horny beast behind me into the privacy of the apartment.
My back hits the wall and his mouth crushes mine, kissing me brutally. His tongue penetrates my mouth for an endless, breathless moment, making me feel like he’s already fucking me but leaving me even hotter than before when he finally pulls away. I tug at his clothes, tossing layers aside as I manage to peel them off him. First his coat falls to the floor, then his flannel shirt, followed by his damp long-sleeved T-shirt.
He pushes my sweater and thermal top up, then yanks down my bra, finding my nipple with his mouth and sucking. I groan as I curl my fingertips around the back of his head, digging in.
Coming to my senses briefly when his fingers tug at my belt, I say, “Not here. Let’s go upstairs.”
He makes a disgruntled noise, but puts just enough space between us for me to dart to the stairs and up, taking two at a time with him following at a fast walk. We spill through the bedroom door, our pants already half-off, then gone, our underwear disappearing a second later. He closes the distance between us in a breath, his hands all over me again, his mouth hot and demanding. Every inch of my skin is on fire, sending fresh jolts of ecstasy between my thighs when he touches me.
I turn to climb onto the bed, but he grips my hips and pulls me back against him. He drifts his smooth lips across the side of my throat, his erection inexorably pressed against my ass. I try again to climb up onto the bed, wanting the softness to fall into after we’re done. He finally relents, letting me move, but following me, intent on a singular purpose.
He digs his fingertips into my hips again as his hot length grazes down the crease of my ass until his tip notches at my core. I yelp when he thrusts into me from behind, not from pain, but surprise at the sudden, sharp urgency.
I bury my face into the pillow while he fucks me, my mind a blank slate of pleasure. If I had the capacity for coherent thought, I’d be surprised that it was even possible to be this blank in the middle of sex. Normally I’m preoccupied with other things. With Mason, I’m aware of nothing but the steady stroking of his thick cock inside me and his hands teasing at my breasts, my clit, caressing down my back, gripping and squeezing my ass, then moving again.
He never quite finds a place to settle. Normally I’d be frustrated by that, but that one piece of his anatomy is working me so well I think I might come just from that alone.
I don’t, but he does, loudly, several moments later, his grasp on my hips bruising. Before I can track his movements, he shifts positions, gripping my hips from a different angle and pulling them down.
I’m thrown off-balance, inundated with sensation, but disappointed that the fullness of him has disappeared from inside me so quickly. I begin to sit back and look for him, but before I can, his face appears between my thighs, his lusty gray eyes twinkling up at me.
And he laughs.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, laughing back.
“Making you come,” he says, tilting his head up and flicking his talented tongue between my thighs in just the right spot.
“But I’m a mess . . . You just came . . . Oh, fuck.”
He doesn’t waste ti
me, his mouth already going to work on my dripping pussy. I can’t do a thing but give in, gripping the headboard and spreading my thighs just a little wider and trying really hard not to suffocate him.
But he seems to want to be buried in me. He grips my ass and pulls me down closer to his mouth. I cry out when his unrelenting assault makes me involuntarily buck. He tongue-fucks me like he’s reaching for that last bit of half-melted ice cream in the final two inches of waffle cone on a hot summer day, and it feels amazing.
I arch my back, lose my grip on my bedframe, and fall back, catching myself with my hands against his sturdy body behind me. When I look down my angled torso, the top half of his head is visible between my thighs. His eyes are bright with naughty glee at how he’s making me writhe against him. He must really like making me scream.
My body clenches with the first spasm just as his tongue makes that last, steady, deliberate stroke. My breath escapes like I’ve been punched and I gasp for air. I arch and cling to his hips, digging in, hoping dimly that I don’t hurt him as the waves of tingling pleasure course through me and a piercing cry of pleasure erupts unbidden from my throat as my hips spasm over his mouth. A mouth that doesn’t seem to be finished yet.
Oh God, no. He isn’t stopping. His tongue teases at me again and I hear my own screams continue, hating myself for them, but loving the way he laughs at the same time.
I lose my grip and fall back, twisting away from him when he refuses to cease tickling with his tongue against my sensitive flesh.
“No more!” I plead, laughing and burying my head in the covers beside his thigh.
We lay like that for several silent minutes, my mind a dazed mishmash of remembered sensations. The only concrete images are a few from the snowball fight before all hell broke loose, and they make me smile. Mason still smells like snow beneath the scent of our mingled musks. It’s too bad our fun morning had to be so brutally destroyed.
His body shifts beside mine and he slides a warm hand up my thigh, coasting it gently over my naked ass and along my back. The pleasant, soft sensation makes me heave a long sigh in response. When he settles again, he’s lying down facing me, his face thankfully devoid of any signs of what he was just occupied with. He leans in and kisses me, his tongue lingering against mine as if to remind me of what we’ve both just shared and giving me a small taste. I hum in appreciation at the salty mixed with the tangy.
“We taste good together,” I say.
“Better than sex.” He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, the remnants of humor on his face fading into something more serious. “Everything is better with you, Callie.” His voice takes on a gruff edge, one that incites a surge of warmth through my chest until my throat constricts and I have to close my eyes to hold back the emotion.
Rather than respond, I scoot close and wrap myself around him, clinging hard. “Promise you’ll come find me after this is over, okay?” I pull back just far enough to peer up into his face, hating how my voice has thickened with emotion and my eyes start to burn with hot tears. It’s only been a couple days, but it feels like we’ve known each other so much longer. Tonight is going to be our last night together for I don’t know how long.
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, baby,” he says.
“God, I can’t believe I found you.”
His lips curl into a slight smile. “Me too. I must be luckier than I think, huh?”
He pulls me tight again, and I press my nose into the crook of his neck, greedily inhaling his scent. Then I sigh and pull away.
“We should get a move on so we can eat and pick up food for Nina. You want to shower while I go put on coffee?”
I begin to stand, but he clings to my hand, giving me a mournful look. “No shower sex?”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve done almost nothing but screw all weekend. Not that I’m complaining, but we should probably start adulting for a change.”
He snorts a laugh as he rolls off the bed and ambles toward my bathroom. In the afternoon light, I catch sight of a dark bruise on his side that wasn’t there before. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it, and I get distracted by his perfect ass flexing beneath his koi fish tattoo with a mesmerizing rhythm that makes me second guess my choice not to join him.
“You don’t think screwing like champions is adult enough? I must not be trying very hard,” he calls back through the door.
“You know what I mean. Our friends need us. I’ll be back with coffee in a few.”
I slip into a robe and wander back downstairs, humming softly at the enticing scent of fresh coffee. It isn’t until I reach the kitchen and stop in front of the coffee maker, blinking in confusion, that I realize it smells so good because it’s already brewing. Not only that, the pot is nearly full of hot, steamy, hazelnut-scented heaven.
“What the hell?” I mutter, my brain still muzzy from all the sex endorphins.
“I thought you two might want something warm to drink. We can always break out the whiskey, though, if you need something stronger.”
I whip around and stare, heart pounding. “Mom? How— How long have you been here?”
She’s seated in the cozy armchair closest to the fireplace, her own steaming mug in hand. Raising it to her lips, she blows gently while arching a single perfect blonde eyebrow. “Long enough, my dear. Long enough.”
28
Mason
I take a deep breath when I step out of the shower, inhaling the sweet aroma of coffee wafting up to the second floor. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relaxed. My situation is still a dark specter at the back of my mind, and Booth’s shooting weighs on me, but with Callie’s company, it’s all begun to feel manageable. She makes me believe success is possible, not just with the assignment, but what comes after: bringing Zoe home and figuring out how to be a dad to my daughter. She makes me believe I can actually have my life back.
I’m slipping on clean socks when two voices reach my ears and I pause, cocking my head to listen. I don’t remember hearing anyone come in after us, but with the noises we were making, I could’ve easily missed it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I threw the deadbolt the second we were inside, right before pushing Callie against the wall.
Stepping lightly in my stocking feet, I ease to the open doorway and listen, then curse under my breath. Katherine Longo’s voice is a harsh mirror to her daughter’s, so similar but with an edge of maturity and command that makes Callie’s normally authoritative tones seem soft by comparison. They’re arguing, and I wince when I hear my name.
“Mom, Mason and I met long before he even knew you existed. He isn’t with me because of you. You have no idea what he’s been through. What he’s going through.”
“Callie,” the senator begins in an exasperated tone, “you don’t know everything. Very dangerous people want him dead. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“What about him? Do you even give a shit whether he gets hurt? You have the power to help him, so help him. Do what you should’ve fucking done for Chris.”
I hear an intake of breath that I imagine came from the senator, but nothing follows besides the fridge opening and closing, followed by the clink of pottery. I’m loath to interrupt the mother-daughter stand-off, but since I’m the topic of conversation, I decide it’s justified.
I pad down the stairs, but don’t see them until I round the landing and can set eyes on the kitchen island. They’re positioned at opposite ends of the long stretch of gray granite counter, staring daggers at each other so hard they don’t seem to register my presence. The senator’s knuckles are white where she grips her earthenware mug, and from the set to her jaw, it’s evident Callie’s strike hit home.
Callie’s face is red and angry, but her scowl softens when she sees me. I give them both wary looks because I really don’t want to get in the middle of them, but I also don’t want to leave Callie to deal with her mother on her own.
I clear my throat, and Senator Longo’s shoulders tighten as she turns to face me.
“Senator,” I say. “Good to see you again.”
She grits her teeth and my stomach sinks at the dark look she sends my way. “You didn’t think it was pertinent to share that my daughter was present at the shooting?”
“I’m fine,” Callie interjects.
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” Longo says.
I splay my hands out in front of me beseechingly. “Booth had a security detail. I had no reason to believe we were at risk.”
“The Denver agents are on point, but they’re still no guarantee. It was reckless of you to drag her into this.”
“To be fair, ma’am, when we met, I had no idea she was your daughter. I didn’t find out until yesterday.” And by then it was way too late for me to turn back.
“And yet you’re still here.” She crosses her arms and stares me down.
I wince and look at Callie. Her mother’s right; I should have put distance between us the second I found out, but I was still too overwhelmed by the fact that we’d found each other, that she knew who I was finally, to have a clear head about what it would mean. Sadly, I don’t think Senator Longo is quite ready for the kind of outpouring of truth that would explain why I’m still here.
Callie squares her shoulders and comes to my rescue. “I asked him to spend the weekend with me, Mom. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. He’s been up front about everything, so I knew the risks. Besides, I have to fly back to LA tomorrow. It’s just one more night and with the shooters in custody, the danger is handled.”
Longo cuts her eyes toward Callie, then back to me. “He didn’t tell you they weren’t the only ones, did he? Two men fitting the description of Amador’s known associates in the area were found shot in an alley four days ago. There will be more where those came from.”